


Dragon Magic

by glim



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: Dragons, Future Fic, M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-11
Updated: 2010-08-11
Packaged: 2017-10-11 01:06:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/106592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glim/pseuds/glim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of ficlets about the intertwined relationships between Arthur, Merlin, magic, and Albion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Flight

Clattering footsteps made their way up the staircase to the ramparts at the uppermost wall of the castle, paused at the top, and continued, now measured and quiet, until they approached where Arthur stood.

Merlin, of course; Arthur hadn't even had to look to know. The sound was as familiar as the feel of Merlin's hand at his waist and of Merlin's chin on his shoulder; as familiar as the warmth that Merlin conjured against the late afternoon cool with his mere presence.

"What are you thinking about?"

Arthur cast a glance over his shoulder to catch Merlin's eyes and his half-smile.

Once, a few months after his thirty-third birthday, Merlin had fought an injured dragon. The dying beast had laid waste to one of the fields on the western border of Camelot and had burned the land clean of all life.

From afar, Arthur had watched Merlin subdue the dragon, magic crackling between them as bright and hot as flame, and his chest had ached from breathing the acrid air and then from not breathing at all when he saw the dragon settle at Merlin's feet. Merlin had stroked the creature's head with a touch that, even from miles away, Arthur knew to be the gentlest. Such power and such caring had seemed to come so easily to Merlin, as easily as breathing and being.

That is, until Arthur had recalled how, only a few minutes earlier, breathing had been the hardest thing for him to do. When Merlin had walked back across the scorched land to Arthur's side, his hair was shot through with silver and for the first time, Arthur understood that, yes, magic was exactly like breathing for Merlin, and that it tore through his body like fire through air.

The dragon had taken flight, casting a shadow over Merlin as he walked back to Arthur and back to Camelot, circling once around the castle before Merlin wove his hand in silent, final farewell.

Merlin had complained about that change – had said the silver in his hair made him look strange or old – but never attempted to use magic to reverse it.

Arthur had thought he looked beautiful; still thought he did, so many years later, and still saw painful, delicate beauty in his thin wrists and in his eyes, which had remained the most brilliant, haunting blue, the shade of the unplumbed depths of midnight sky reflected in water. Some days, less often now than when Merlin was younger, light would spark behind the blue in his eyes. And yet Arthur, when the evening settled around them and Merlin drew warm, careful fingertips down his shoulders and chest, would swear that Merlin hadn't changed at all with the passage of time.

Beyond the castle walls the grain fields turned to gold, the tips of the sheaves barely brushing the darkening horizon.

"That field lay fallow ten years ago," Arthur replied and let himself be drawn a step away from the wall and closer to Merlin.


	2. Fight

Merlin points and ink spiders from across the parchment to etch a map into its surface. A compass blooms in one corner and a dragon creeps across the edge to settle in another. Albion comes into being and the dragon roars, sending ink in the color and shape of flame around the borders of the kingdom.

"You could have just told me where you were going."

"You could have asked," Merlin retorts.

The dragon eyes Arthur warily. When Arthur concedes with a nod and rests a hand on Merlin's, she lets out another roar and takes flight to mark Camelot.

¤

Just before dawn, Arthur shifts on the bed and strokes Merlin's cheek. Instead of resting, he's spent the last couple hours watching Merlin rest. His hair is dark against the pillow and his body relaxed, one arm thrown over Arthur's waist.

Sometimes, when he's asleep like this, his breath calm and even, Arthur skims his hand over Merlin's skin and marvels. At the power contained in his calm, even breath and in the steady pounding of his heart; at the strength that Arthur has seen him wield and has felt deep inside but realizes he has not yet come to comprehend, not even after so many years of shared secrets and nights together.

Sometimes, when Merlin blinks and smiles at him, pulls him close to kiss the pulse point at his wrist or his neck, Arthur forgets that he's seen Merlin twine air and fire. He remembers Merlin falling into the stream and spluttering with laughter at Arthur's reproach, and Merlin falling asleep next to him in the late summer sun, and Merlin falling into bed with him and making all those impossible promises they thought they'd be able to keep forever.

Merlin turns his face into Arthur's hand and kisses the palm, his lips warm and his expression softened with sleep. He lets Arthur tug him back in close when he starts to get off the bed, and lets Arthur finger the edge of his jaw and the corner of his mouth.

It feels like the morning before a battle, dim and cool, the world painted in watery greys and blues that the sunlight will burn away in a few hours.

"I'm going with you."

Merlin sighs, patient, almost indulgent with Arthur, and dips his head to touch his mouth to Arthur's. "You can come, but you cannot fight."

¤

An hour after dawn, Arthur watches Merlin stride through smoke and scattered ash towards the dying dragon.

Arthur follows after him a few paces and offers his knife. "If anything happens to you…"

Merlin accepts the blade and holds it up to the dull sky; the shiver of light that glances over it glances over Arthur's senses, a sudden, sharp sensation, and Merlin turns to touch his forehead to Arthur's.

"You will know." With the press of the knife handle back into Arthur's palm comes a familiar warmth.

Arthur nods, walks back to the edge of the field, and waits.


	3. Reflection

"I look ridiculous."

"Well, no real change there. I don't see why you're worried."

Merlin gazed into the mirror, brow furrowed into a tight frown. The faint scent of lavender and mint clung to the warm, humid air in his chambers, steam still rising from the bath water and cloaking the drier, more familiar scent of incense, parchment, and the sharp, ozone tang of magic. He lowered the glass as Arthur came to sit next to him on the bed. "You're supposed to be in a council session."

"And you're supposed to be resting." Arthur reached for the mirror; he drew his hand back at the sight of the silver filigree pattern. "Oh, no. I recognize that."

"I disenchanted it…"

"It _talked_. It was incredibly disturbing."

"You just didn't like what the mirror had to say to you." Merlin put it aside himself, his movements careful and measured. He made a move to get off the bed, then dropped his hands into his lap. "I need to rest."

Arthur nodded, removed his cloak and sword belt, and pulled off his boots before settling back on the bed next to Merlin. Cleansed of the dust and ash of a daylong dragon fight, Merlin looked pale with exhaustion. Yet, magic, indefinable and immense, sparked at Arthur's fingertips as he mapped the lines of Merlin's cheek, his jaw, his collarbone; as he stroked the fine silver that now threaded through Merlin's dark hair.

The change was unspeakably beautiful and if asked to say what exactly had changed about Merlin aside from his hair, what alteration had been wrought by the snap of magic that had silvered it out on the smoke-clouded field, Arthur would have found himself silent.

Merlin gave him a fond look, one as recognizable to Arthur as the sound of Merlin's voice or footsteps, and for a moment Arthur wondered how the years had changed him, too.

"You don't need to stay."

"I do. As you're my subject, it's my duty and right to look after you." Arthur pressed his lips to the side of Merlin's neck, just where the collar of his loose, unlaced tunic slipped down to reveal warm, clean skin. "It's also my pleasure."

"As it pleases your majesty, then." He glanced over his shoulder at Arthur, smiled wearily, and nodded towards the candles so they extinguished themselves in a quiet puff of smoke. "It pleases me, too."

He pulled Arthur down next to him on the bed and sighed, deep and slow with fatigue, to feel Arthur's hand rub his back. That move was familiar, reassuringly so, and Arthur kept his hand on Merlin until he felt him relax into sleep.

Once he was sure Merlin wouldn’t wake, Arthur reached over Merlin to graze his fingertips over the edge of the mirror. The twisting pattern of leaves and scrolling parchment that surrounded the Pendragon crest was cool to his touch.

He hesitated. Merlin shifted against him, murmuring, and pressed closer.

Arthur turned the mirror face down.


End file.
